


People Are Fragile Things

by downlookingup



Series: Walk on Shells [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downlookingup/pseuds/downlookingup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Jaime and Brienne’s Big Mistake, from Jaime’s POV. One week of regrets and awkward conversations.</p><p>The song for this one is “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eO7tVypeYAo">Munich</a>” by The Editors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday, 5:21 a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really nervous about this one. I hope this clears up Jaime's state of mind during this whole thing. It was a huge pain in my butt and I had to rewrite it many times, but it turned out way better than I ever thought it would. It was depressing and uncomfortable and I'm still not completely happy with it, but I was never going to be.
> 
> Reading alongside Part 2 is strongly recommended, as some events overlap a bit and others sort of mirror each other.
> 
> I may or may not have written myself into a corner by starting this story with them sleeping together, but I honestly never thought about continuing the original one-shot, so I'll accept the challenge. The next installment is already done and it's a flashback about a certain Park which was very fun to write.

For a long, disorienting moment, Jaime couldn't remember where he was. The light was a different color here, a harsh, yellow-orange glare instead of the icy city glow that washed over his penthouse at night, and the bed was parallel to the window instead of facing it. Then he noticed he was naked and he recalled everything in crisp detail.

Brienne writhing under him. Brienne's wetness in his fingers and his tongue. Brienne calling his name.

She still slept next to him, curled up on her side like a little girl. Her blonde hair covered her eyes and her mouth was slightly parted to show her oversized front teeth. She looked younger asleep. The harsh lines of worry she carried when she was awake were smoothed out and she seemed more at peace than he'd ever seen her before.

_I slept with her._ The realization hit him like a high-speed train and his pulse began racing, making his vision pulse with bright spots of light. A dozen thoughts rushed his mind, each more dizzying and bewildering that the last.

_I slept with my best friend._

_I've wanted to sleep with her for a long time._

_I betrayed Cersei._

_Cersei will never forgive me._

_I want to fuck her again._

Jaime leaned back on the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to slow his erratic breathing. He should have left when they were finished, he should not have fallen asleep, but she had been so warm and soft and he hadn't been able to resist. Cersei never let him stay for long after they made love, always worrying about being caught, even now when there was no one left to catch them. He knew Brienne wouldn't push him out of bed as soon as he'd crawled from between her thighs, and just once he had wanted to know what it felt like to sleep with a woman.

_You stupid, selfish bastard. Now you've done it._

The sound of his phone ringing somewhere in the silent apartment made him start and he turned to Brienne to see if she'd woken. She still slept, still as a rock, pale as a moonbeam, and he stood up to go in search of the offending sound. He found his phone in the pocket of his suit jacket, which was on the kitchen floor, and he fished it out and looked at the screen.

Cersei. Jaime silenced the ringing. His stomach was coiling painfully in itself and he thought fleetingly that what he was feeling was guilt, when he remembered he was standing naked in the middle of Brienne's kitchen and that she would see him through her bedroom door if she opened her eyes. He went into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, tried to still the shaking in his hands. _Brienne_ , he thought, his fingers throbbing with the remembered sensation of her fleshy thighs when he gripped her and thrust into her, like the phantom pain of a lost limb. 

He had only meant to kiss her. 

It had always baffled him that she couldn't see herself the way he or Margaery or any of her other friends did. She was constantly downplaying her achievements or making self-deprecating jokes he knew were rooted in real insecurities. Her looks certainly had something to do with it, but it went deeper too, a feeling of worthlessness woven into the very fabric of her being. Sometimes he argued with her, tried to make her see how very _good_ she was, but Brienne would only roll her eyes and pretend she accepted the compliment, when Jaime knew perfectly well she didn't believe a word he'd said. 

And he had desperately wanted her to trust him when he said that anyone would be lucky to be with her, and when words failed him, he acted. _Foolishly, impulsively. Your cock took the lead and you followed it._

The pulsing desire he had for her had been so constant for so long, sometimes he forgot he felt it, but occasionally it ambushed him, made him falter. It was always when she looked at him, her bright sapphire eyes full of all the things she could not say out loud. When she turned them to him in the kitchen the night before, he had seen all her doubts gathered on her face like cobwebs and he hadn't been able to stop himself.

_You are wanted_ , he had meant to say, _even if I can't have you._

He might still have stopped things before they went too far, but the moment she had opened his shirt and kissed his chest, he'd lost his head. He'd dreamt about her mouth before, about her broad lips and her pink tongue, about how far down her freckles went. He'd been dreaming about her for months and the real thing had been a hundred times better than his most elaborate fantasy.

Jaime's phone vibrated in his hand again and he stared at it, reading the name on the screen over and over again. He felt the unfamiliar stab of remorse in his chest again, but he answered, because she would only keep calling until he did.

"You're not in your apartment," Cersei said, before he could speak.

His heart hammered in his chest. _She'll find out_ , he thought. _Only if you tell her_ , the voice of reason replied. "How do you know? Did you go over there?"

"Of course not," she scoffed. "I called you fifty times and you didn't answer. Neither did Addam. Wasn't he staying with you? _Where are you?_ "

There was no doubt in his mind about what he had to do, no matter how sick it made him feel, and the lie rolled off his tongue with surprising ease. "In a hotel. Addam was bringing a girl over and I wanted to give them some privacy."

"Why do you need to go to a hotel? It's _your_ apartment."

Jaime leaned his forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom wall and took a deep breath. He hated lying to her. It made him feel like Robert, and that was one thing he'd promised himself he'd never do. "He's my guest, Cersei. You're supposed to be hospitable when you have a guest in your home."

"That's not being hospitable," she spat. "That's being stupid. I only hope you'll wash the sheets—"

It was an unnecessary question, but he asked it anyway. "What do you want, Cers?"

Her voice dropped and she whispered softly into the phone. "I want you to come over. It's been almost a week, Jaime, and the night guard is an idiot. He's probably sleeping. He won't see you."

He dropped his face into his hand and sighed. "Cers, I can't. I have a meeting tomorrow at ten."

"I want to feel you inside me, Jaime," she moaned. "I want to taste you. I _need_ you. Come over."

Her voice made his cock twitch, but his stomach flipped nauseatingly. It wasn't right, rolling out of one bed only to fall into another, not when he could still smell Brienne in his fingers, still see the afterimage of her eyes in the back of his eyelids.

_She used to fuck Robert and then crawl into_ your _bed_ , the voice in his head said. But that was different. Cersei had never loved Robert and she'd fucked him to keep up appearances, to hide the truth of _them_ , and Jaime had forgiven her because he knew she only loved him, her brother, the only person in the whole world who really knew her. When they fucked, they had washed out her husband's stench from her skin, replaced it with his smell, a smell she loved.

It scared him that he felt no such compulsion to wash away Brienne's scent and it delivered another pang of shame straight into the core of him. He didn't even know what he was most ashamed of. He'd spent twenty years being completely faithful to Cersei, even after she'd married, even when finding a woman willing to be with him would be as easy as throwing a dart into a crowd. All that loyalty had been lost in one thoughtless night. 

He'd betrayed his friendship with Brienne too. He'd bared his mangled soul to her and she'd accepted and befriended and defended him in spite of it. _How could we ever go back to that after this?_ He'd been able to tell her _everything_ , but already he could feel the walls building, no matter that she wasn't awake yet. Brienne would shut him out, embarrassed that he'd seen her like that, trembling and moaning. And how could he ever look at her without hearing the way his name had sounded on her lips as she came? 

Cheap excuses. _If there was no Cersei, I wouldn't care. I would go back to her bed and wake her up and take her again, friendship be damned._ But there _was_ Cersei, and she would always wait for him and he would always go to her, no matter what.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he sighed into the phone, and he could almost hear the triumphant smirk on her face when she said, "I'll be waiting."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a nightmare beast to write. I rewrote it from scratch twice before I had something I liked and then I hammered it into something good enough to post. Pinning down why Jaime would leave Brienne and then verbalizing it was the proverbial worst, but ultimately worth it, I think.


	2. Sunday, 8:02 a.m.

_The waters here are the bluest I have ever seen, and the clearest too. If I stick my head below the surf, I'll see a million technicolor fishes swimming in organized formations miles away. The sun is warm on my skin, but it's a comfortable warmth that settles deep in my chest like a hot drink. I lie back in the white sand and close my eyes and then I feel a kiss on my lips, soft and barely there._

_When I open my eyes, she is leaning over me, grinning with her beautiful blue eyes and crooked teeth. She says I shouldn't sleep when the day is so nice. She says Tarth beaches are not for sleeping. I can think of a couple of things Tarth beaches would be good for but I don't think she'd appreciate my suggestions. She is wearing a white one-piece, as tight as a second skin, and a wide-brimmed sunhat, and her skin is bright pink and it seems to me like she has more of a womanly shape now, like the curve of her hips is more noticeable or her breasts are fuller, but she looks exactly the same, and that is when I realize I am dreaming._

_She says I already woke up, that this is waking life, and I want to believe her, but when I pull her to me and kiss the muscles of her neck and slide down the straps of her swimsuit so I can expose her small breasts, when she slides her hand into my swimming trunks and strokes me until I'm hard, out here on the beach where anyone can see us, I know she is lying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of installments are LONG, so I'll be posting them over the next couple of days. The last one should be out by Tuesday.


	3. Monday, 12:12 p.m.

"Something's bothering you." Tyrion folded his hands on the table and leaned forward to stare at him with his mismatched black and green eyes.

 _Intuitive bastard_. Jaime lowered his sunglasses over his face and reclined lazily on the chair. "I don't know what—"

"Don't deny it. You've got that look in your eye like you want to lock yourself in a closet for a couple of days."

"It's nothing," he said. "I just haven't been sleeping well." It wasn't exactly a lie. Since Saturday, he'd been dogged by thoughts of Brienne: guilty thoughts, angry thoughts, lustful thoughts. Frankly, he'd begun to feel ashamed of what he'd done. He would have left Brienne's apartment without her noticing but she'd woken up and caught him out and made him feel like shit. He kept wondering if maybe he should have explained things to her before he'd gone, or at the very least, called her afterwards like he'd said he would, but what would he even say? _I've wanted to fuck you for a year but I'm in love with my twin sister?_ She would accuse him of taking advantage of her, and maybe he had, unscrupulous pig that he was.

Jaime turned his face to the street and watched the cars go by, hoping Tyrion would drop the subject. After spending so much time in King's Landing, being in Lannisport was like visiting a different planet. Even the sun shone differently here, brighter and buoyant, as if the heat baked all the impurities out of the air. He never thought he'd feel grateful for one of his father's imposed business trips, but here he was, wishing he never had to go back east.

_And all it took was ruining your most meaningful friendship. If Tywin had known, he would have arranged something years ago._

"I bet the Tyrells put you through the wringer on Saturday." Jaime snapped to attention at the sound of Tyrion's voice and frowned slightly. His brother had a knack for knowing when to back off and when to attack. It served him well in the boardroom and in the courtroom. _He'll guilt a confession out of me soon enough_ , Jaime thought, bitterly.

"Not really. Olenna doesn't think very highly of me, no surprise there, but they were nice enough. We agreed the magazine will cover the venue and the entertainment and all that. The fundraiser's going to be moved up to October, so we have plenty of time."

Tyrion shook his head, his face scrunched up with disapproval. "That's not what Father wanted. He said everything should be split fifty-fifty. They'll ruin us."

"If Father wanted a better deal," he said, with a scowl, "he should have held the meeting himself. I did the best I could." Jaime twisted in his chair, caught the eye of the waitress and asked for a refill.

They were having lunch at one of the sidewalk tables in The Golden Tooth, one of Lannisport's most expensive cafés. It was a tradition of theirs whenever Jaime traveled west, which had become a more common occurrence in the past few years. Tywin refused to move the offices of the Lannister Media Group to King's Landing, lest the dirty capital taint his finely-pressed linen suits. Despite the fact that Jaime had zero interest in the family business beyond the magazine, Tywin insisted on making him pretend that he did because he was expected to manage the whole operation when Tywin died.

As trying as his relationship with his father was, Jaime constantly found himself wishing the old bastard lived forever just so he wouldn't have to inherit. Tyrion was the one who should succeed him and everyone knew it, even Tywin himself, but the scorn he had for his youngest son, born out of prejudice and an old festering wound, kept him from admitting it. It was a fault neither could forgive him, each for his own reasons.

The waitress appeared with fresh drinks for both of them and a beaming, comely smile just for Jaime. He smiled politely, thanked her and turned back to Tyrion, not in the mood for empty flirtation. Tyrion watched amusedly as the girl slinked away disappointed.

"Your looks are wasted on you, brother," he said, not for the first time. "You could have any woman in the world if you wanted to."

Jaime stiffened in his chair. "If I wanted to, but I don't."

"No, you only want the one you can't have," Tyrion said, almost sadly. Jaime almost corrected him, but thought better of it and changed the subject.

"I don't know why he keeps insisting I go to these meetings for him. I'm not a businessman and I don't want to be one."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Jaime, he's giving you responsibilities so you'll get a taste for it. He wants to make you Managing Editor of the magazine."

"I don't think Catelyn Stark is going anywhere anytime soon," he said, with a frown.

"A lot of changes are coming. If Father wants her gone, she'll be gone." The thought made him feel a little ill and he grimaced. Despite his not-so-amicable history with Catelyn and her husband, he had to admit she ran a smooth-sailing ship. The magazine wouldn't be half as safe in his clumsy hands. Tyrion let out a bark of laughter. "Have you gone soft in your middle age? When did you grow a conscience, brother?"

_The day Catelyn Stark shackled me to Brienne Tarth._

The confession was out of his mouth before he could shovel it back in, and once he said it, it was real, something he couldn't ignore. "I slept with Brienne," he blurted out.

Tyrion coughed for a full minute before he could talk. "You _what_?"

"You heard me."

He spluttered, "But–but how? When? _How_?"

Jaime smirked, hoped it hid how nervous he was. "'How'? You need me to explain that to you?"

Tyrion banged his fist down on the table and pointed a finger at him. "Don't joke about this. What the fuck happened?" he demanded, and Jaime told him, sparing a few details. Tyrion was still staring in shock after he'd heard the story. "I didn't even know you were attracted to her."

Jaime could only shrug. He'd never told Tyrion about that day in Naerys's Park and he didn't intend to share. He wanted that memory for himself. "Well, I am. I have been for a while. I just never did anything about it because of..." He gestured vaguely with his hand and Tyrion copied the movement with a nod of understanding.

"Right. And what about...?"

"Everything's the same. I obviously haven't told her."

"Good," Tyrion agreed, "because she'd kill Brienne and then chop your balls off."

Jaime winced. "She wouldn't hurt Brienne."

"She's vicious enough to the girl as it is. She just never does it in front of you." _That's not true, is it?_ They weren't anything like friends or even friendly acquaintances, but he'd never seen them be anything but coldly polite to each other. It shouldn't surprise him, considering how Cersei was with her employees, but it sent a buzz of anger through him nonetheless. "Anyway," Tyrion continued, "you shouldn't tell her until you sort everything out with Brienne."

 _Sort everything out?_ "What do you mean?"

Tyrion glared at him. "You are going to pursue this thing with Brienne, aren't you?"

He gaped for a moment before he came back to himself. "Well... no, I can't. Because of... It was just the one time."

"What do you think is going to happen, exactly?" Tyrion asked, pinning him down with a exasperated scowl. "Brienne doesn't seem like the type that goes around having one-night stands at random, does she?"

" _No_. Not at all." He didn't think Brienne would ever do something like that. Her story about Hyle Hunt had proven that. She was too soft-hearted, too loving and too self-conscious to give her body to someone without giving her heart too. _She'd turn a one-night stand into a relationship and—_

" _Oh_." The epiphany knocked the breath out of him like a punch to the gut. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Seven hells, I'm such an _idiot_."

He shut his eyes and all he saw was the angry look she'd given him when she closed the door. But surely if she had feelings for him, she would have said something, cried or yelled or demanded an explanation. Instead, she had stood by the door like a giant marble statue and laughed when he told her he'd call. _Probably because she knew you wouldn't, you fool. She knows you better than you know yourself._ He had been in such a rush to get away, get to Cersei that he'd left her by herself to hold up the consequences of what they'd done, hadn't even noticed she was straining under the weight of it.

"She's going to hate me," he muttered, his voice muffled against his hands.

"That's a shame. You would have made a nice couple," Tyrion said. "It would certainly make things easier for you."

Jaime sighed heavily. "When have I ever done things the easy way?"


	4. Tuesday, 6:10 a.m.

_All I know is that she's crying, but I don't know why and I don't know how to stop it. Her tears are sapphire blue, the color of her eyes, and they stain her pale, freckled skin like ink as they make their way down her cheeks and neck and breasts and belly until they stain the blonde bush between her thighs. I try to pull her towards me, but my fingers go straight through her like she's not there. I only want her to stop crying. I ask her why, I call her name, I scream, but she never looks at me._


	5. Wednesday, 2:40 p.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags! Twincest lies beyond this point and I know that's not everyone's cup of tea. The last two chapters go up tomorrow!

Jaime was not shocked to find himself dreading his flight home. Missing his little brother was certainly part of it, but when he thought about what waited for him in King's Landing, his stomach clenched. Cersei, whom he'd betrayed. Brienne, whom he'd abandoned. He'd hide in the Westerlands forever if he could, but reality would come knocking eventually.

Tyrion had sensed Jaime's bad mood and taken him to a pub near his apartment in downtown Lannisport. Jaime went grudgingly and didn't tell his brother that pubs now reminded him of Brienne and her thick freckled thighs. The place was blessedly crowded, though, and too noisy by half for awkward conversation. Casterly United was playing against White Harbor and Jaime and Tyrion sat at the bar in a sea of red-and-gold jerseys. They sipped their pints of beer and idly watched the game, occasionally cheering when a lion threatened to even the 1-0 score. It reminded him of simpler days.

The two of them had spent half their childhood attending Casterly matches with their uncle Gerion, who had been Tywin's opposite in every way. Jaime still remembered the day Arthur Dayne signed a jersey for him when he was thirteen. He'd idolized the man, hung a tall poster of him over his bed, recorded Casterly matches on tape so he could dissect Dayne's movements and copy them when he practiced. The day he met Dayne, he'd asked him a dozen pointless questions about everything he could think of, from the type of underwear he wore to how he had managed that last-minute goal against Royal FC to win the Dragon League title. Dayne had answered graciously enough, until his handler grabbed his arm and dragged him away to more pressing matters. Jaime still had the jersey, framed and displayed in his living room, though the dreams he'd had of being a footballer had been lost along with the child he'd been.

What would that boy think of him now? Even then he'd stolen not-so-innocent kisses and caresses from his sister in Casterly Rock's dark hallways and empty rooms, but he thought thirteen-year-old Jaime would have balked at the thought of defamation and cuckolding and taking advantage of women with noble hearts. Or he hoped he would have. He liked to think he had once been better.

"You're worrying again," Tyrion shouted over the noise and pushed Jaime's warming pint towards him. "Drink!"

He'd told Tyrion a half-dozen times that he didn't feel like it, but he took a polite sip just to make him shut up about it. When his phone vibrated in his pocket and he saw it was Pia, he silently thanked the gods for the distraction. _Work_ , he mouthed at Tyrion as he got off the stool and pushed his way through the crowd towards the bathroom. It was a small room with a single toilet, a urinal and a sink, but when the heavy door closed, it was quiet.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lannister!" a high and cheery voice greeted him when he answered. It made his temples throb slightly. "It _is_ afternoon over there, isn't it?"

"Hi, Pia. Yes, it's only a one-hour difference. How can I help you?"

"I just wanted to confirm that you'll be flying back tomorrow? People have been asking."

 _People?_ Was Brienne asking? Thinking it made his heart stutter nervously. He would see her soon and speak with her and see if things were ruined forever. "Yes, I am. The flight is at six, right?"

"Yes, sir. Six-fifteen, your time. I'm sending the passes to your personal and work emails. Remember to arrive at the airport an hour before your departure time."

Jaime liked Pia quite a bit—she was efficient and hardworking—but sometimes she coddled him. "I know, Pia."

"I only remind you, sir, because you missed your plane the last time."

He laughed. "I _know_ , Pia."

"Have a safe flight, sir, and I'll see you tomorrow." He said goodbye and hung up.

The crowd outside swelled up and exploded in the telltale sound of a Casterly goal and he vaguely wondered who had done it and then realized he didn't much care. It would only take a flick of his finger to look up Brienne's number on his phone and a single tap to call her, but what would make him find the words to say all he wanted to say?

He dialed Cersei's number instead and sighed with relief when she answered. The sound of her voice had him half-hard immediately. _This_ was familiar territory. Words never failed him here. He could do it drunk and half-asleep, often had.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in a car full of hens," she said, and he heard them in the background, bickering about printed fabrics. "You?"

"I'm in a bathroom thinking about how much I miss you."

She scoffed, but he knew she was smiling. "How charming."

He dropped his voice to a growl, hoped she was feeling it between her legs. "Do you want to know what I miss the most?"

"Yes, do tell," she said, brightly, and he knew she was putting on a show of normalcy for her companions. _This_ is _normal_ , he thought. _If they knew how often we'd done this while she was in their company, they'd be scandalized._

"I miss your tits," he muttered, cradling the phone against his shoulder so he could undo his jeans and take his stiff cock in his hand. "I miss sucking on your nipples until they're red and raw and aching."

"Is that so?" He could almost hear the smirk on her face, feral and lusting, and he pictured her sitting in the leather backseat of a town car, legs spread wide and her small manicured fingers sliding inside, making her gasp his name. "What else?"

"I miss your cunt, Cersei." He stroked himself slowly, matching the movement to the sound of her breath in his ear. He leaned back against the sink and closed his eyes, imagined she was in front of him, nipping at his neck and squeezing him in her hand. "I love how your cunt feels around my cock. So tight. So wet. Do you like my cock?"

"I think you know the answer to that." _Yes, I do._

"If you were here, I'd bend you over and take you from behind." He saw her, her creamy tits pressed against the rusty mirror, her face frozen in pleasure. "I'd rub your clit and make you writhe against me while I fucked you. I'd make you scream my name so everyone would hear." He could almost feel her walls clenching around him as he stroked himself, so close, _so close_ , imagined her bucking back with her strong thighs to meet his thrusts. He would have to stand a bit on his tiptoes so he could drive his whole length into her, because the angle of the sink was strange and she was so damned tall besides and—

He came in his hand with a loud, shuddering groan, thankful the bar was so noisy, and he slumped back against the sink, his sticky hand frozen around his limping cock. _Seven fucking hells, what the fuck was that?_

If Cersei noticed anything amiss, she gave no indication. As the thrashing of his heart in his ears slowed, he realized she wasn't talking to him at all. "Are you insane, girl?" she barked. "Who told you to do that?" The voice was too soft to hear, but Cersei let out a huff of indignation in reply. "Is Margaery Tyrell your boss, Sansa? _No_. I say what goes and what doesn't here, _not her_. Get out of my sight." She let out a low growl, turned her mouth back to the phone. "I swear, that Tyrell snake wants to overthrow me. I need to get rid of her."

He sighed. "I have to go, Cers."

"Are you finished already?"

"Yes." _Though not by imagining you._

She snorted. "That was quick. I'll be in a shoot in the Vale tomorrow, so I'll see you on Friday," she said, and hung up.

He stuffed his soft member into his pants, washed the seed from his hands and went back to the bar. Tyrion raised a knowing eyebrow at him, but Jaime avoided his gaze, grabbed his pint and swallowed it down as fast as he could. On the screen, he watched as a black-haired kid named E. Storm scored White Harbor's second goal in the 91st minute to secure their win over Casterly.

"Brienne knows him," he said, remembering suddenly, something about her days as a volunteer coach with a youth group in the Stormlands. Tyrion shot him a look but said nothing. Under any other circumstances, he would have snapped a photo and sent it to her, but this time he left his phone in his pocket. The vision of her moaning her release in a pub bathroom ran around his head in a loop, and he didn't trust himself to be entirely chivalrous if he took it out. Better to leave well enough alone.


	6. Thursday, 1:22 p.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy about the Germany-Brazil game that I'm going to post the rest early (and also because I'll be swamped with work for the rest of the day). Enjoy!

**From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Brienne Tarth <btarth@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : where are you? [DRAFT]

grizzly, i didn't see you in the caf today. i had to have lunch with the marketing people. it was awful.

we should probably talk about friday. do you wanna get some coffee or something?

J

 

 **From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Brienne Tarth <btarth@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : About Friday [DRAFT]

I'm sorry I left your apartment like that on Friday. I really did have a meeting. With the Tyrells, actually. You can ask Margaery's grandmother if you want.

And I meant to call you but I flew to Lannisport and I left my charger at home and then i couldn't buy a new one even though i'm filthy rich because i am a worthless bastard please please please please forgive me

 

 **From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Brienne Tarth <btarth@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : About Friday [DRAFT]

we really need to talk. what happened on friday shouldn't have happened. not that i didn't want it to happen because i did. your eyes are so pretty that sometimes i SEVEN HELLS LANNISTER YOU ARE PATHETIC

 

 **From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Brienne Tarth <btarth@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : About Friday [DRAFT]

i've been thinking about your sweet wet cunt all week. i've often wondered which of your freckles is my favorite one and now i know where it is.

 

 **From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Brienne Tarth <btarth@lmag.com>  
 **Subject:** About Friday [DRAFT]

Brienne, I am so sorry about Friday. I shouldn't have left your apartment the way I did, but I panicked. I think we made a mistake. You're my best friend. I've told you things I haven't told anyone else, not even her. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you.

I wasn't lying when I said I've wanted you for a long time. Do you remember that time we got caught in the rain in Naerys's Park? I wanted to kiss you so bad. I should have.

But then she came back and I couldn't. I love her so much, Brienne. Sometimes it feels like my whole body wants to burst open and evaporate. I should love you. You don't know how much I wish I did. You're so bloody amazing and I wouldn't deserve you in a million years.

I should probably say all this in person.

 

 **From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Brienne Tarth <btarth@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : About Friday

We should probably talk.

J

P.S. Did you have lunch today?

 

* * *

 

`Me (3:02 p.m.): i dont know what 2 do`   
`Me (3:02 p.m.): shes really mad @ me`   
`Tyrion (3:06 p.m.): i told you so. what happened?`   
`Me (3:06 p.m.): sent her email & she sent bck bullshit re employee code of conduct`   
`Me (3:06 p.m.): included email sig w fuckin confidentiality clause`   
`Me (3:06 p.m.): SHE NEVER INCLUDES THAT`   
`Tyrion (3:07 p.m.): you sent her an EMAIL??`   
`Tyrion (3:07 p.m.): i s27 go talk to her in person you dolt`   
`Me (3:08 p.m.): k`   
`Me (3:08 p.m.): wish me lcuk`   
`Tyrion (3:09 p.m.): just go!!`

 

* * *

 

 **From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Podrick Payne <ppayne@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : Re: Re: The Faith article

Pod,

It's been years since I worked with anyone in the Research Department who wasn't Brienne, so I don't know how you want to do this. I know you'll want to go over my interview notes. We could meet over a pint at the Broken Anvil later and discuss the article. Let me know.

Jaime

 

 **From** : Podrick Payne <ppayne@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : Re: Re: Re: The Faith article

Mr. Lannister,

Thank you for the offer, but I'm not sure it would be appropriate to discuss the article in such a setting. We could reserve a meeting room tomorrow if that would be convenient for you.

Regards,

Podrick Payne  
Reporter-Researcher  
L Magazine

This email and any files transmitted with it are confidential and intended solely for the use of the individual or entity to whom they are addressed. Please notify the sender immediately by e-mail if you have received this e-mail by mistake and delete this e-mail from your system. If you are not the intended recipient you are notified that disclosing, copying, distributing or taking any action in reliance on the contents of this information is strictly prohibited.

 

 **From** : Jaime Lannister <jlannister@lmag.com>  
 **To** : Podrick Payne <ppayne@lmag.com>  
 **Subject** : Re: Re: Re: The Faith article

Mr. Payne,

Glad to see Ms. Tarth's good influence is rubbing off. Meeting room after 11 a.m. would be fine.

Jaime

 

* * *

 

`Tyrion (5:55 p.m.): how'd it go?`   
`Me (6:08 p.m.): not well. she wouldnt see me`   
`Tyrion (6:08 p.m.): you really fucked up bro`   
`Me (6:08 p.m.): yes tyrion thank you very much for your astute observation`   
`Tyrion (6:09 p.m.): you're pretty hung up about a one night stand`   
`Tyrion (6:09 p.m.): you sure that's all it was?`   
`Tyrion (6:18 p.m.): jaime?`   
`Tyrion (7:01 p.m.): fine. be like that.`

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep this one lighthearted as a sort of break from all the angst. Jaime's fourth email is inspired by [Robbie's letter to Cecilia in _Atonement_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GpYsyM3rZ6M). Enjoy!


	7. Friday, 6:55 p.m.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like with Wednesday's chapter, mind the tags! This is obviously inspired by the fantastic altar sex scene. As such, a couple of lines are either not mine or are reworked versions of GRRM's. I am ridiculously proud of how this bit turned out.

Cersei's message had been clear enough.

_I need you. My office @ 7_

Their fucking Saturday morning had been hasty and he'd finished faster than usual, claiming he'd been away from her for too long (a half-truth at best, to conceal the fact that his mind hadn't been all there while he'd worked between her thighs), and the phone sex on Wednesday had been awkward and confusing for him, and totally ineffective for her. Jaime had known she'd call for him sooner rather than later, yet he wondered at her choice of location. They'd never done it in either of their offices, too afraid of discovery to even consider it.

_If it was up to me, we'd fuck in the lobby and let anyone watch._ He'd never been ashamed of loving her and sometimes it angered him that she wasn't willing to risk life and limb for him, for _them_ , even though he knew that she was right not to. _She's always been the practical one, and me, the romantic fool._

He took a turn about the 23rd floor to make sure everyone was gone before going to her. He only found a single seamstress called Donyse who was dutifully altering a dozen pairs of men's trousers. With his most charming smile, he convinced her the long weekend was too precious to spend on things she could finish on Tuesday, and after a few friendly teases, the woman relented and left, wishing him a Happy Conqueror's Day.

"You're late," Cersei snarled when he finally made his way to her office. She was sitting behind her desk, looking beautiful as she always did, but her golden hair was loose and tangled around her shoulders and her green eyes were slightly bloodshot and sunken. She did not look at all like herself. They'd not seen each other all week, but he'd spoken with her the day before and she'd been fine then.

"I'm fashionably late," he quipped, flashing her a smile and locking the door behind him. The curtains were already closed, so he made his way around the desk to her.

"There's no such thing. That's something lazy people invented to make themselves took good."

"And _that's_ something Father would say." She glared up at him from her oversized leather throne and his body hummed with desire. He leaned down to kiss her and stopped short when he smelled her breath, as fragrant as a winery. "Are you _drinking?_ "

"Yes. And?" She moved her arm from under the desk and lifted a glass of red wine to her lips. He glanced under the desk and saw a half-empty bottle of Dornish red on the floor by her bare feet.

"You never drink at work."

" _You_ do," she snapped. "Why can't I?"

Jaime dropped to his knees in front of her and cupped her cheek. She jerked away from his touch but he put his hand on her neck and forced her to look down at him. "What happened, Cers?"

"It's a coup, Jaime." She gulped down what was left of her wine and slammed the glass down on the desk. Her eyes were wet and glinting. "They mean to force me out. Me! After everything I've done for this magazine."

"What are you talking about?"

"They fired Taena," she said, and the tears began flowing in earnest, trailing down her face and neck until they disappeared beneath the low neckline of her black dress. "They didn't even talk to me about it. They just gave her her marching orders and had a security guard escort her out of the building. It was humiliating!"

Taena Merryweather was the assistant fashion director, Cersei's right hand. She'd come over from Pentos with Cersei and they had been practically inseparable. Jaime hadn't had much cause to speak with the woman but even though she seemed clever and totally loyal to his sister, he'd never trusted her. She was a beautiful woman, almost as much as Cersei, with long black hair and smooth brown skin, and Jaime had the sneaking suspicion that she used people's innate weaknesses for beauty to get them to do what she wanted. _Like Cersei. Perhaps she's who Taena learned it from._

"There must have been a reason," Jaime said, softly. 

"They told her she wasn't being _satisfactory._ " She ran the back of her hand under her nose and wiped the snot away. "But when I met with Aunt Genna, she said Taena was a _spy_. I've known her for two years, Jaime. She is not a spy."

"A _corporate_ spy?" 

Cersei nodded. "For the Martells, Genna said." Jaime didn't think it was too far-fetched. It certainly explained Taena's natural shiftiness. She'd had the habit of drawing people into conversation and asking the most veiled questions. And if Genna said so, it must be true. Their aunt wasn't in the habit of tangling the magazine up in lies.

"Perhaps they bought her off after you came back to Westeros," he offered.

"No!" She shook her head vehemently, sending her hair shaking around her. "Taena wouldn't do that to me. She'd _die_ before betraying me. Like you." Jaime felt the same stab of guilt he'd been feeling all week deep in his gut and he bit his tongue, swallowed the truth down. This was not the right time to dwell on that. On _her._ "They set her up," Cersei said. "I _know_ it."

"Who in the seven hells would set you up, Cersei?" He shook her softly, wanting her to snap out of it. This was not the reunion he'd imagined when he'd been in the elevator twenty minutes before.

Cersei's lips curled up in a pretty snarl full of loathing. "The Tyrells," she growled. "Who else? They got Taena fired and then they had Genna and the Stark woman give her position to _Margaery Tyrell_." She said the name like it was the foulest thing she'd ever tasted. 

"Margaery's good at what she does," he said. "Maybe you'll find she's even better than Taena." 

"I don't trust her, Jaime. She's always undermining me, even when Taena was here. She wants my job."

Jaime liked Margaery well enough, mostly through Brienne's influence, and he was sure she'd turn out to exceed everyone's expectations, but he wasn't enough of a fool to doubt that he she would indeed try to steal Cersei's position if she saw the opportunity. Regardless, she would never succeed. Despite her faults, Cersei was still a Lannister. Genna and Tywin would never cast her aside, much less for a Tyrell. 

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "She won't get it." 

Cersei pulled back and looked in his eyes, and it made his heart hurt to see how angry and scared and lost she looked. It reminded her of the little girl she'd been, crying silently and clutching his hand in a cold hospital room in Lannisport so many years ago. He wanted to hide her away like they'd hid in the cavernous depths of Casterly Rock. "But what if she _does_ , Jaime?" she whispered.

" _She won't get it_ ," he repeated, more firmly, and pulled her down to plant a deep kiss on her mouth, hoping it would make her forget everything. She moaned softly against his tongue and then turned away, remembering herself.

"Not here, Jaime. Someone could walk in."

"I already checked," he said, standing up and taking her with him. "Everyone's gone. The door's locked. No one will see us." He kissed her again and she kissed him back, and let him push her against the desk until she was sitting on it. Cersei was clutching at his shoulders, pressing him against her, and he pushed her dress up to her waist and ran his fingers through the space between her legs. She was already wet and he groaned against her mouth, his head swimming with want. Her small, delicate hands dropped to his waist and undid the buckles and buttons until his cock sprung free between them. He hooked his fingers in her lacy underwear and pulled them off and then he was inside her, thrusting into her wet heat, losing himself inside her. He buried his face in her neck and she nibbled at his ear, whispered how much she wanted him, Jaime, Jaime, like that, just like that, hurry, Jaime, hurry, faster, faster, yes, yes, yes.

Jaime grunted his climax against her skin and rested his forehead against her chest, his breath coming out in heavy gasps. Then, Cersei was pushing gently at him. "Let me stand. I need to clean up." 

He stepped away from her reluctantly and watched in silence as she opened a drawer, pulled out a wad of tissues and wiped his seed from the pink folds of her sex. She put the tissues in a blank sheet of paper, balled it up and tossed it into the waste bin, then put her underwear back on and smoothed down her dress. As she did it, she frowned at his lower body with pursed lips, and he realized he was standing there with his limp cock hanging out of his pants like an idiot. He shoved it back in and leaned against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Even though his skin was still tingling with his release, he felt like he'd done something very foolish.

Cersei stood in front of him and mirrored his stance, an old childhood habit of theirs. "We need to do something about Margaery," she said. "I can't let her take my job."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Let her choke on it! We'll go away, just the two of us. We can go to Braavos or Volantis or even Sothoryos." The more he thought about it, the more his chest burned with the urgency of it. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard. "We can change our names. We wouldn't have to hide anymore. We could get married like we've always wanted."

She pulled her hand away from him and stepped back, stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. "That's not funny," she said.

Jaime straightened and gaped at her. _Why can't she see it?_ This was what they needed, to be together. He knew her. He knew how to be with her and who he was when she was near. There was no doubt or confusion about how he felt or how _she_ felt. "Do you hear me laughing? I mean it. We don't have to wait until Margaery takes over. We can do it now. Just say the word."

"No! The word is no." She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and took a deep breath. "You don't get it. You've always been the golden son. When you wanted to be a reporter, Father let you. When you got yourself fired, he built you a magazine. I've worked too hard to get to where I am. Do you think I'll just drop it because you ask me to?"

"I'd do it for _you_ ," he snapped. He grabbed her arms and put his face close to hers, so she could see how much he meant it. "I'd drop everything for you. I'd do _anything_ for you. _I love you_."

"Then help me," she begged. "Help me get rid of her."

His stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"We'll do to her what she did to Taena. Set her up, ruin her." 

The intention was plain on her face, her beautiful face full of loathing and determination. _She really means it_. Jaime gaped for only a moment before he spoke, shaking his head firmly. "No, we can't do that, Cersei."

Her eyes darted up to him in surprise and then with anger, and she bared her teeth at him, looking every bit like a lioness. "You've done it before," she spat, "or have you forgotten about that embarrassment with Aerys Targaryen?"

He stiffened. " _Embarrassment_?" Her flippant tone rankled him. She'd always been dismissive of the whole thing, even after he'd been fired by Ned Stark, even during the trial. Jaime had never regretted doing what he did, but like Tywin, Cersei had spoken of it as if it had been an inconvenience, a temporary stain on the family name, and not like something that had changed him, changed his whole life, perhaps not for the better. "No, I haven't forgotten," he said, "and I'm never doing something like that again."

Cersei wrestled her arms away from him and stepped back. "Then don't say you'd do anything for me because it's not true."

"What you're asking is illegal and unethical, and it's overkill. Margaery isn't threatening your job. I doubt she even had a hand in this business with Taena."

The way she fixed her burning green eyes on him, so unrelenting and unforgiving, made him put a hand on the desk to steady himself. She was not supposed to look at him _that_ way. "Why are you so sure of that?" she asked. "Is it because of your little dog?"

Jaime frowned. "What—" 

"She's Margaery's best friend, isn't she?"

_Brienne_. Gods, he'd done so well all day, not thinking about her every five minutes, and in a rush she was back, her long, elegant fingers grasping his hair when he'd licked her, her grunts of pleasure when she came. Brienne, who might love him. _She would never speak to me again if I did this._ He was as certain of it as he was of the fact that he could never bear that. She was the only person who believed he was a better man than he'd been. Above anything else, disappointing her in _that_ regard was unthinkable. "She–she's not my _dog_. She has nothing to do with this."

Cersei narrowed her eyes. "You haven't fucked her, have you?" The words fell between them like they were made of heavy granite and the room felt like it had been frozen still, every molecule of oxygen suspended in the air, every movement of his lungs constricted. Then Cersei laughed, the tinkling, mocking laughter he hated when it was directed towards him. "Of course not. Not even you would sink that low." Jaime gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay quiet. "All right, you coward. If you won't help me, I'll find someone who will." She tore her purse and jacket from the coat hanger by the door and stormed out of the office.

"Wait!" He caught up to her by the elevators and followed her in, corralling her into a corner. She tried to push him away but he held his ground and stared down at her. They were close enough to kiss, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. He needed to make her understand. _I can't lose her. Not again_. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, _don't._ You could go to jail."

"Father's lawyers wouldn't let us go to jail. Tyrion wouldn't let you go to jail." 

He groaned his frustration. "Father and Tyrion won't be able to stop it. The Tyrells have lawyers too. They'll go after you with everything they have."

Cersei glared at him and by the look on her face, he knew the battle was lost. He wouldn't be able to change her mind. "Let them try."

"Cers, promise me you'll wait, at least. Don't—"

The elevator slowed to a stop. With a loud _ping!_ , the doors slid open and when he turned to look, all he could see were sapphires.


End file.
